


Thirst

by AnneTaylor



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fairshaw, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneTaylor/pseuds/AnneTaylor
Summary: This is my contribution to the "Drink" category for Fairshaw Week 2020.Flynn needs a drink. He really needs one.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45
Collections: Fairshaw Week 2020





	Thirst

“So, there I was, shivering like a wet cat, dressed in nothing but my skivvies, on a plank of wood hanging out over a choppy sea tossing with whiteheads with a ship full of bloodthirsty pirates on the other end of the plank. Wishing I had a drink in my hands.”

 _Flynn Fairwind pauses for breath. He wishes he had a spot of ale to wet his parched throat, but when he stretches out his hand nobody obliges him with a pint_.

[Tough audience]

“What did I do, you might ask? Well, I'll tell you. I wasn't worried, no not a bit. Y’see, I'm a deep-sea man from way back, and a sailor who knows the sea. I could tell from the shape of the waves that we weren't far from land. What's that you say, Mattie? Hogwash? Oh, Wyrmbane...what's he know, anyway? He's no sailor, for all the time he spends on his ship these days. Anyways…where was I? Right. So, I dive into the water and I start swimming and suddenly I'm surrounded, aye, that I am, by a dozen beautiful women with fish tails...oh, Mattie, there you go again. They're just friends, Mattie. Nothing like you and I have. They never laid a hand on me, I swear it to you.”

 _Darkness has surrounded him for so long he isn't sure anymore if he actually has eyes or not. His throat feels like sandpaper and his head aches, and he's fairly certain it isn't from a hangover. More's the pity. At least he'd have had a few good memories to carry him through_.

[Where was I? What was I saying?]

 _He'd lost the story. No matter. One was as good as another. Mattie didn't mind. At least, he'd stopped complaining about Flynn's chatter, that was one mercy. Dog-in-the-manger, that was Mattie. Refused to carry his end of the conversation, but objecting when Flynn had to take up his slack. But…what could he say…he was damned fond of the man, despite his flaws_ …

“...so there I was, half in and half out of the window, and some woman is screeching and smacking my ass with a broom and suddenly...no, Mattie, this isn’t the one where you have to bail me out of prison, it’s the one where you show up just in time to keep me from being…no…that was a different story, wasn’t it?”

 _Flynn used to notice the stink of the place, but he can't even smell it anymore. Just a fetid heaviness that clogs his lungs, and claws at his sinuses and makes his heart hammer with every breath that he takes. Like the drumbeat roll that draws out the moment between the tightening of the noose and the sickening drop_.

“So...where was I….oh...right...the chicken. Well, I took off after the vicious little pest…”

 _Flynns’s voice chokes off, and he has to wait until his throat moistens enough for him to continue. If only they'd bring him a tankard of ale. He'd even drink water, if they'd only offer it_.

“How are you doing with that lock, Mattie? Almost there? Good. Let me know if you need some help. Mattie...language...there's no need to be unkind about it. I know you know what you’re doing, mate. I believe in you. Always.”

 _They brought food and water. Sometimes. Flynn couldn't remember how long it had been. It didn't matter. They'd be leaving this place soon. As soon as Mattie was finished with his business_.

“Remember that little island where we found the Freehold ship that had run aground last year? What do you say we head over there when this is over, take a few days off, we deserve it, don't we, Mattie? To take some time for ourselves? With a keg of rum and a basket of fried chicken and biscuits…”

[So thirsty. I’d drink my own spit, if I had any]

“Where was I? Boralus...no...Stormwind? Were we there together? I was kissing you, I think, and we were behind the throne and then we heard footsteps and you started kissing me to shut me up…”

[Lips so dry they won’t stick together any more]

“That happened, didn't it, Mattie? It wasn’t just in my imagination? Yeah, I thought so.”

[Tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. Hurts.]

“Cat got your tongue, Mattie? Well, yes, that's true. All right. I'll shut up for a bit. See? This is me not talking. Go ahead. Tell me a story.”

 _There's a sound in the distance. Metal-on-metal. Somebody lets out a choked cry_.

“Well. As stories go...I suppose, since it's your first effort we’ll have to make allowances.”

 _Something skitters across the floor_.

[Rat? Cockroach? Rat would be good. Not nice to think about, but desperate times…]

“How's that lock coming, Mattie? Almost done? Good.”

[Somebody's coming. Are they bringing us a drink, Mattie? Hide the picks, don’t let them see, that's the lad.]

_Light dances outside the door. Flynn can make out the shape of the bars_.

“Hunker down, Mattie, or they'll see us…”

[So thirsty…]

 _There's a clanging sound. Footsteps against a stone floor. Voices. Muted. Unheard_.

“Think they've come for us, Mattie? Nope. Me neither. Hey...did I ever tell you about the time I snuck into Proudmoore Keep through Tandred’s window and glued a fake mustache to…”

_Metallic sounds at the door. Scratchy. Stealthy. A click. The grinding screech as the door swings open._

“Shhhh, Mattie. Don't make a sound.”

 _Lights flicker, outside in the hall. Someone steps into the room with a lantern. Golden light bathes the walls, and everything between them_.

[The light. No. Don't make me look. Don't make me see him.]

“Don't look, Mattie. Close your eyes. See...I'm closing mine.”

“Fairwind? Flynn Fairwind! Jaina, come quickly. We've found him. Fairwind!”

[No. Don't take me. Let me stay with him…]

“Fairwind, what's wrong? Why are you making that noise? Fairwind, open your eyes. Look at me.”

He opens his eyes. Unwillingly. Knowing that nothing but pain can be the result. He finds himself staring into a man's face. High cheekbones. Neatly trimmed goatee and curved mustache. It's impossible to see the color of his eyes in the dim artificial light, but Flynn knows that they are green.

[As green as the sea, and a hundred times as welcome.]

“M...Mattie? But...you're not dead?”

_He can scarcely recognize his own voice. Somehow it had sounded different before, when it was just him and…_

“Don't sound so disappointed, Fairwind.”

 _Mathias Shaw chuckles_.

"And why are you calling me by that ridiculous nickname?"

“Then…that's not you?”

 _Flynn turns his head. Revealed in the light is a corpse, dried blood staining the side of its face and soaking its shirt. One of the guards who had been with them when he and Shaw were taken by the Zandalari_.

“Flynn, you poor demented sot…of course that's not...Light…”

 _There's a choking sound. And silence_.

“You thought that was me. All this time, you thought you were locked in here with my corpse?”

 _Powerful arms pull him up and crush him against the hard metal surface of Shaw's armor. His arms, yanked downward, strain against the manacles that bind him to the wall_.

“Brighton. Ellis. Pick those damned locks! Now!”

[It hurts. In a good way. His face. His arms. His chest]

“Flynn…”

 _Flynn drinks in the sight of him as Shaw's fingers wrap around the back of his head, pulling it forward. Their foreheads touch. Shaw is warm. Alive. Not slick and cold and unmoving_.

“They dragged me off to an interrogation cell. It took a while, but I managed to get loose. I came to look for you but you were gone. It...it was my duty to get back to the ship and report. I'm sorry...I'm so sorry for leaving you behind…”

“S’okay.”

[I’ll forgive you anything. As long as…]

“You're not dead.”

_Saying the words stabs through his chest like knives. All those hours, or days...it's hard to tell how long it has been...all that time spent not thinking about something that he is just now being forced to confront…_

_…only to have it swept away by the press of Shaw’s lips against his._

_One of his arms is freed, and then, a moment later, the other. He clutches at Shaw as the kiss ends. Shaw pulls back from him as a woman limned in blue light enters the room_.

“Don’t leave…”

 _Flynn can hear the whimper in his voice. He hates it. He’s embarrassing himself in front of the spymaster_.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight, Fairwind. Jaina…can you get us back to the ship? Or...back to Stormwind? We're done here. Presumably Wyrmbane can manage to get home without me. Brighton, see that this soldier's body is brought back for burial.”

“Of course.” Jaina raises her staff and peers into Flynn's eyes. “He doesn't look good, Shaw.”

“He needs medical attention. Probably food and water as well.”

_Shaw's arms are still on the back of his neck. Jaina looks amused. She gestures, and a portal appears_

“This will take you straight into the castle. I'll stay with Wyrmbane in case we run into any more trouble. I'll see you in a few days, Master Shaw. One would hope you can make good use of that time.”

“I intend to, Lord Admiral.”

_Shaw leads him toward the portal. Step by step. Flynn’s legs wobble and Shaw catches him around the waist before he can fall. As they step into the glowing portal, disorientation tears at his mind. Flynn wonders if he is dead. Evidence would seem to indicate that is a possibility. Shaw...kissed him. Briefly, Flynn wonders if it is heaven or hell that he has been sent to._

[An eternity of Shaw's lips, Shaw's voice, Shaw's touch…]

[Or an eternity of longing after the one thing he wants but cannot have more than a taste of]

_The hallways of Stormwind Keep are endless. One door looks pretty much like another. Until Shaw halts their fogged shuffle and opens the door that seems somehow different from the others. Significant._

_Inside is a large desk, neatly stacked with piles of papers. Organized by region, Flynn knows. There's a window with a heavy curtain. Two chairs. Another door, which Shaw guides him through._

_A closet. A basin. A pitcher of water. A bed._

_His body goes into a supported fall. Shaw's hands, holding him, laying him down. He feels his boots being unlaced, pulled off_.

“Phew, Fairwind. Those feet are going to need some bathing.”

 _Shaw leaves him. Walks away. A whimper rises in his throat_.

“Don't…”

 _Shaw returns_.

“Shhh, Fairwind. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.”

 _He's lifted into a sitting position. The rim of a cup is pressed against his lips. The cool gush of water down his parched throat is an inexpressible bliss. He drains every drop and clutches at Shaw's arm_.

“More?”

 _Shaw's smile is gentle_.

“You'll have to let go of my arm, Fairwind.”

“Not...that...thirsty.”

 _Shaw smooths the hair back from his forehead and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear_.

“I won't be out of your sight, Fairwind. I promise.”

 _Flynn forces his fingers to relax their grip and Shaw slides away from him. Even though Flynn bites down, a sound still escapes him_.

“Mattie. Sorry. Don't...I don't know what's amiss with me.”

“It's all right. We're all entitled to our moments. I was rather a wreck myself by the time they got me out of that hellish demon pit.”

 _Clattering noises. Rustling noises. Flynn remembers that he can look as well as hear, now. Shaw is carrying a box and a pitcher of water, which he sets down beside the bed. He unstraps and removes his chest plate and sets it aside before seating himself on the bed_.

“Tell me if I'm hurting you…”

_With a jeweled dagger he slices away Flynn's shirt, pulling it carefully out from beneath him. He gives Flynn more water, and then he begins to wash away the blood and sweat. When he reaches the edge of Flynn's waistband his eyes find Flynn’s. They're green. So green. Even when every other color had fled from Flynn's memory in that dark place, that was one shade that he could not bring himself to let go of._

“Do you want me to keep going, Fairwind?”

[Never stop, Mattie]

 _Flynn's head rolls inward. His face holds nothing but trust, and a question_.

[What are you offering, mate? Never mind. Doesn’t matter.]

“I'll take whatever you're willing to give me. M’in your hands, Mattie.”

 _For just a moment, Shaw's expression is one of dismay. As if he has been caught in the act of some sort of misconduct. Then his face forms its own question_.

“This isn't just coming out of a prison cell, is it, Fairwind?”

“Fraid not, mate.”

“You never let on.”

“Can you blame me? Thought it’d make things awkward. Does it?”

“A little. But…”

 _Shaw places his hand on Flynn's chest. Stroking gently. His fingers are warm, and alive_.

“That will pass. With time and familiarity.”

“Does that mean you're about to get familiar with me?”

 _Flynn feels all the tiny, unused muscles in his face pulling his mouth up into a rusty smile. He feels Shaw's fingers tugging at the draw string of his pants_.

“I'm afraid so. I hope you'll forgive the liberties.”

 _Shaw's voice has turned to teasing. Flynn clumsily assists in his own undressing. Shaw stops at the smalls, though the thin fabric does little to conceal the effect Shaw's hands are having on Flynn_.

“I'd be an ungrateful dog to complain when you're just trying to be helpful, eh, matey? Though, there's a lot more that can be put to rights down there, if you've a mind to be helpful.”

 _Shaw gives him a quelling look. There's not much to be done for his legs, it's mostly bruising, but then Shaw transfers his attentions to Flynn's feet. He can't help whining and squirming as Shaw slides the cloth carefully between each pair of toes. The slight grin and look of satisfaction on the spymaster’s face is oddly gratifying_.

“I'll have a light meal sent up, and after it you will close your eyes and sleep. I'll stay here and, hopefully, catch up on some of my paperwork while you nap. When you wake up, we'll talk.”

“About?”

“The things that need to be discussed.”

“Dare I hope we'll be doing more than talking?”

“You would dare anything, Fairwind. It's one of the things I've come to rely upon with you. And...perhaps...appreciate. More than is strictly necessary.”

“Don't feel bad about it, Mattie. It's the old Fairwind charm. I've been shining it on you so long you never had a chance to resist.”

“Ah. Is that what happened?”

 _Shaw's mustache twitches in amusement. Flynn badly wants to feel the course texture of it between his teeth_.

“What else could it be?”

_Picking up the stained cloth and bowl of dirty water, Shaw heads for the door. He pauses and looks back, his gaze keenly stabbing into Flynn's. Then he leaves. Flynn starts counting discolorations. On the wall. On his body. On the table. He loses count and starts at the beginning._

_The door opens. Shaw enters, carrying a covered tray_. _His gaze finds Flynn immediately and is apparently satisfied with what he sees, because he merely crosses the floor and sits down on the bed beside Flynn. Flynn loses count again, but it doesn't matter anyway, does it?_

“Fairwind. You okay?”

 _Shaw helps him sit up. The smell of fresh bread and chicken soup wafts out as the cover is removed_.

“Feeling a little peaked, here, mate. Faint. From hunger. And then there's the arthritis in the fingers.”

_Flynn leans his head against Shaw's shoulder. With a look which is half severe, half indulgent, Shaw begins to feed him. All too soon, his belly is uncomfortably tight and the comfort of Shaw’s ministrations has begun to drag him down into exhaustion._

_Shaw sets the tray aside_.

“I hope you know that I am aware of how shamelessly you have taken advantage of your ordeal to lower me into this compromising situation.”

“Have I compromised you, Mattie?”

“Don't look so pleased, you scurrilous pirate. Not yet, other than that kiss, which I am still at a loss to understand how you managed. And my reputation will most certainly be in shreds when it gets out that you've spent the night in my bed.”

“With you?”

“Negotiations will proceed after your nap, Fairwind.”

 _Shaw pushes him down against the pillow, drawing the covers up over him. His hand rests on Flynn's chest as his eyes close and he drifts off, darkness finally dispelled and nothing but clear skies ahead_.


End file.
